54 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



" Why, when the mead, the spicy vale, 

 " The grove and genial garden call, 



" Will she her fragrant soul exhale, 

 " Unheeded on the lonely v^all? 



** For never sure was beauty born 

 *' To live in death's deserted shade! 



** Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn, 

 " My banks for life and beauty made.' 



Thus Pity waked the tender thought, 

 And by her sweet persuasion led. 



To seize the hermit-flower I sought. 

 And bear her from her stony bed. 



I sought — but sudden on mine ear 

 A voice in hollow murmurs broke. 



And smote my heart with holy fear— 

 The GeniXjs of the Ruin spoke. 



